


Alone

by freckledfoxes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:58:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledfoxes/pseuds/freckledfoxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>9x13 coda, but could be set anytime between 9x10 and 9x13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

Dean’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, fingers laced and hands resting on the top of his stomach. It's almost completely dark, save the dim yellow light being emitted from the nightlight plugged into one of the outlets on the far side of the room, and besides the soft _tick-tock_ of his alarm clock, everything is quiet.

The familiar flutter of wings does not alert him that something isn’t right, rather that Cas is suddenly standing beside his bed. Dean starts, only slightly, and looks up at the man—the angel. He's in his familiar overcoat, his blue tie is loose around his neck and Dean is sure it's probably backwards, though he can't really tell in the poor lighting. Cas' hair is bedraggled, as Dean remembers. _Everything_ is as he remembers.

"Cas?"

"Hello, Dean," Cas says, soft and warm and grating, like molasses over gravel. This is familiar, too, and the fluttery feeling in Dean's stomach spreads up into his chest.

"S'there a reason you came to spy on me while I'm sleeping?" Dean questions, raising a brow at Cas.

Cas just stares at him. "You appear to be awake, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes but doesn't look away from Cas. "What do you want, Cas?"

"I just came to see you," Cas replies, not really moving, but looking as though he wants to move closer.

"That's it, huh? Just stopped by to chat? No angels to kill? No apocalypse to stop?"

"We don't necessarily have to chat. We could just sit quietly. I just wanted to see you," Cas states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Dean frowns and watches Cas quietly, a little confused.

Cas' hand lifts, gesturing toward the bed. "May I sit?"

"Uh... Sure. Okay." Dean sits up a bit and scoots over as Cas comes to rest on the edge of Dean's bed. Cas clasps his hands in his lap and looks down at them.

Dean watches him. “There’s really no reason why you came?”

“There is a reason, Dean. I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah, I know. But I mean—That’s it?” Dean asks, perplexed.

“Is that not okay?” Cas asks, looking back at Dean, brows starting to pull together. Dean thought he might look worried if he didn’t know any better.

Dean pushes himself up more, leaning back against his headboard. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay. You just never—You never come here just ‘cause,” Dean explains.

Cas sighs softly and looks back down at his hands. “I would like to. If there weren’t so much to do—I’d much rather be here. I enjoy our time together, despite what little of it it feels like there’s been.”

Dean can’t quite make out Cas’ tone, but he thinks he sounds sad. He watches Cas quietly for a moment, then gets up and pushes the covers down.

Cas looked up at him curiously. “Are you going to sleep?”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe not quite yet. But we can lay down.”

“I don’t sleep, Dean,” Cas reminds him.

“I know. And you don’t have to. Doesn’t mean you can’t lay down for a little while.” Dean climbs back onto the bed, pushing his legs under the comforter.

Cas eyes Dean and the bed suspiciously for a moment before turning to climb further onto the bed.

“Hey hey, wait.”

Cas freezes, looks at Dean. “I thought you said—“

“Yeah. But you’re in a coat and boots and a fuckin’ suit, for chrissakes, Cas.”

“Am I supposed to be nude?”

Dean flushes at the sudden mental image. “No. Dude, no. Okay, just—You gotta have a t-shirt on under that. And probably some kind of underwear.”

Cas frowns. “Yes…”

“Yeah, so… wear those. Just those. That’s the kind of thing you wear to bed.”

“That’s alright?” Cas asks, unsure.

“Yeah. It’s cool.”

Cas moves back, gets back on his feet. He starts with his overcoat, sliding it off and draping it over the back of a chair in the corner of the room. Then his suit jacket comes off, then his dress shirt. Cas toes off his boots, carefully placing them at the foot of the bed, then takes off his pants, folding them and setting them on top of the pile of clothes on the chair.

Dean watches him the whole time, only glancing away quickly when he feels Cas’ eyes on his, too. It’s stupid; the kind of thing a teenager would do. But Dean can’t help it, and blush crawls up his chest and into his cheeks. It’s not like Dean had never looked before; had never checked out Cas’ body and his lips when Cas was looking _directly_ at him. But Cas was always covered in three layers of thick, too big fabric. The one time he’d seen Cas naked—on the hood of his car, no less—Dean had pointed _not_ looked. Cas had been covered in _bees_.

But really, this is the most naked Dean has ever seen Cas. Even without the overcoat, Cas looked naked. But now just two thin pieces of clothing covered him, kept Dean from Cas’ skin. Cas’ undershirt was heather gray and his boxers were dark, probably navy, but maybe even black, Dean couldn’t quite tell.

Cas padded back over to the bed, socks shuffling against the carpet, and he climbed onto the bed, sliding under the covers beside Dean. Cas kept a respectable distance between them, despite the bed’s small size, and he settled, resting his head on the pillow beside Dean’s.

Cas’ eyes were shining in the dim light, glassy and somehow bright even in the darkness. They were on Dean, and Dean shifted, feeling strange under the heavy gaze.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean licks his lips and takes a deep breath, preparing himself, trying to gather his thoughts into something that might make sense when it came out of his mouth. He stays quiet, heart suddenly racing in his chest, beating wildly and pounding against his ribs in an effort to launch itself from his chest.

“Dean?”

A hand comes down on Dean’s shoulder, firm, grounding. Dean is suddenly snapped back into himself, and he realizes he was breathing a little harder than he thought.

“Sorry.”

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“A lot of things are wrong, Cas,” Dean replies, looking at Cas.

Cas frowns at him, brows pulling together, and Dean imagines that, if they weren’t lying down, Cas would probably be tipping his head in that way that he always does when he’s confused.

“Dean, you’re acting strange. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“ _I’m_ acting strange? Dude, you just showed up out of the blue in my room for now reason.”

“I didn’t think I needed a reason.”

“There’s _always_ a reason.”

“I can go if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“No,” Dean says quickly, too quick, too loud in the quiet room. Cas just stares at him, expression not changing, if just a bit softer. Dean is suddenly self-conscious, flushing deeply. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Dean. I just wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

Dean tries to look away, but his eyes only fall to Cas’ chest. Something is wrong. Something feels off and Dean can’t figure it out.

“Dean, please.” Cas sounds desperate. “ _Dean_.”

“Why are you _here_ , Cas?”

Dean looks up at Cas now, and Cas’ expression has finally changed. He looks afraid.

“Dean—“

“Cas. C’mon, man. _Why_?” Dean implores.

A sigh releases the tension from the set of Cas shoulders. “Because you want me to be here,” he finally answers.

“What?”

“You want me here. So I am here.”

“I didn’t ask you to be here,” Dean protests.

“You didn’t have to. It’s what you wanted.”

“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, Cas.”

Cas just looks at him, waiting. Dean is still confused for just a brief moment until, finally, it hits him. He hadn’t fallen asleep in the bunker. He isn’t supposed to be anywhere near the bunker tonight. He’d fallen asleep in some grimy old motel, as far away from the bunker as he could get in just a couple hours.

“I’m dreaming.”

Cas watched him sadly.

“None of this is even real,” Dean spits, sitting up and throwing the comforter off of his body. He gets to his feet. He pinches his arm absently, willing himself to wake up.

“Dean.”

“Are you really you or are you just something my brain made up?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. It matters. Are you real or not?”

Cas is quiet, and Dean spins around, mouth open, ready to yell.

“No,” Cas says quickly. “No. I’m not real.”

Dean sighs and runs a hand over his face, shoulders slumping. He’s not aware he’s shaking until Cas’ hand wraps around Dean’s wrist.

“You drank yourself into unconsciousness. I don’t believe you’ll be awake for some time. Come sit. Please, Dean.” Cas’ face is etched with worry when Dean finally looks at him. He swallows hard, then climbs back onto the bed slowly. Cas guides him forward, then pulls back slightly as Dean situates himself. Dean settles back against the headboard, staring down at his legs.

“Dean, it doesn’t matter if this is in your head or not. It’s what you need.”

Dean shook his head slowly. “I can’t have this. I don’t—I don’t even deserve this. Not even here.”

Cas’ hand slides slowly up Dean’s arm. “Dean, you do. Look at me.”

Dean can’t for a moment. He can’t lift his head, his neck won’t work. And then Cas’ fingers are under his chin, lifting Dean’s gaze too his. And Cas is too close, just inches. Cas is closer than he’s ever been and something twists in Dean’s stomach at the look on Cas face, in his eyes.

“Cas—“

“Dean, you deserve all of the good things in the world. And they aren’t happening for you out there. So take them here. It’s okay to take the good things here.”

“Where are you, Cas? Why aren’t you home?”

Cas shakes his head, because how would he know? He only knows as much as Dean ever could. “I don’t know. But I’m certain I’ll be back soon.”

“You can’t know that.”

“But you do,” Cas clarifies. “You believe it. I’ll come back. I’ll come back _to you_. I always do.”

“I can’t have this, Cas. You don’t want this. Not really. Not out there.”

“Have you ever asked?”

Dean is quiet.

“Dean, have you ever asked me what I want? What _I_ need?” Cas is so close, closer even that he was moments ago. Dean can feel Cas’ breath on his cheek. The words send shivers through Dean, and Dean shakes his head in reply.

“No. You haven’t. You should, but you won’t. Not yet. So please, just take this. Your mind is tired. Rest for a while. Rest with me.”

Dean swallowed hard and looked at Cas, hesitant. “Cas, I don’t want—“

“I know. Not yet,” Cas finished for him.

Dean takes a deep breath and closes the distance between them. He sets his forehead to Cas’ and closes his eyes, a shuddering breath passing from his lips, the tension and shakes easing from his body. Cas’ arm snakes around Dean easily, like he’s done this a hundred times in a hundred different dreams. The touch soothes the remainder of Dean’s nerves, settles his stomach and the soreness in his throat. It’s easy, suddenly, to forget about everything outside of this room, outside of his head.

Dean’s body slumps, jello against Cas’ firm body. One of Cas’ hands comes up into Dean’s hair and Dean makes a soft, pleased sound.

“You are not alone, Dean,” come Cas’ words, an immeasurable amount of time later. “Call for me when you wake. Pray for me. I will come.”

Dean looks up, but Cas is gone, the bunker’s gone, and there’s light from the window glaring in his eyes. There’s a bottle in front of him, tipped and what liquid had been left inside is now dripping off the edge of the table. He looks around, and his glass is on the floor, tipped over, whiskey drying into the dirty motel room floor.

Dean sighs, stretches the kinks out of his tired joints and muscles, and he tries to ignore the feeling of loss in the pit of his stomach. He takes a breath, stares up at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes.

“Cas?”


End file.
